Over His Shoulder
by Peahopeless
Summary: Leaving Jordan Tower after delivering a message to the people of London, V returns to the Shadow Gallery carrying an unconscious Evey Hammond in his arms. This story is from early in the PEAhopeless timeline.


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**Disclaimer:** As always, they're not mine and never will be. These characters and places belong to Alan Moore, DC Comics, Wachowski brothers, and Warner Bros. 

**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website.** Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

**Special notes:** At the time of originally posting this (7/12/06), Margaret (one of my helpers) had been asking for this for about a month at the time, and I figured as long as I was doing "A Man of His Word", I might as well hit this one at the same time. Written between 12:30am and 2:30am one night, so let's hope it makes sense.

This occurs after V's siege of the Jordan Tower. He is now taking the unconscious Evey back to his Shadow Gallery.

Part of Margaret's request was to also explain how V knew the police were after Evey (in their later conversation, in the movie, when she wanders out to the jukebox). The movie seems to imply that the scene at the jukebox is their first conversation after he's brought her back to the Gallery, yet somehow he already knows that the police are "looking" for her ... ... he even claims that she's the one who told him. So I tried to do this in a way that would allow her to convey that to him at an earlier time, but would still keep the conversation at the jukebox as their first truly "coherent" conversation.

**This story has accompanying artwork.** To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on, "Over His Shoulder".

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**Over His Shoulder**

Again, for what must have been the fiftieth time in the last twenty minutes, V glanced over his shoulder.

It was an unusual feeling for the masked man. Almost an admission of defeat. ... ... Or worse yet, an admission that he was doing something wrong.

Confidently slipping between the shadows was part of who he was. Who he had become. The dark ghost that no one saw -- no one even knew existed until today -- but who would soon bring the mighty to their knees. ... ... ... He did not apologize. He did not get caught. And he did not glance over his shoulder as he moved stealthily through London's streets.

Until today.

He'd been caught, hadn't he, at the Jordan Tower? How it hurt his pride to admit the failure, even to himself.

And who had freed him from his capture? The same girl he had seen home just the night before. The same girl who had accepted his help; accepted his hand; accepted his invitation; then lied to him about something as simple as where she lived.

She had trusted him that little only hours ago ... but had now risked her life in the pursuit of saving his.

He'd had to bring her here. Where else could he take her?

For nearly three miles, he had carried her through the alleyways, down into the tunnel labyrinth, and finally to the refuge of his Shadow Gallery lair -- -- glancing behind himself the entire time. Adequate strength for the journey was not an issue, nor was agility ... even with her limp weight in his arms. But he knew his risk of being seen was automatically elevated. And what they would see was a masked man -- the same one who had now gained instant recognizability from his broadcast to the people -- carrying an unconscious female through the early evening shadows.

To say it would look suspicious was an understatement. And one failure -- one brush with the police -- was more than enough. There could be no more.

... ... Not now, once the wheels and cogs of his plan were already turning.

And so he would attribute his constant obsession with glancing over his shoulder, to the secrecy and perfection that his plan required. -- -- -- -- Not to the strange little twist in his gut that implied he might be doing something wrong.

Even now, as he carried Evey into his bedroom, he glanced one last time over his shoulder, wondering who ... living or dead ... spirit or god ... would punish or chastise him as he lowered her carefully to the mattress.

No lightning bolts struck. No sword of the gods came down to remove his head. And Shakespeare's bust did not come to life to haughtily ask his intentions toward the female now lying helpless in his bed.

She, however, did finally stir a bit.

In fact, while no swords swung nor lightning bolts struck, she most certainly did both. Her arms lashed out clumsily at him, her fists colliding with his chest more than once. The effects of the blow to her head still kept her quite woozy though, and V knew she wasn't entirely awake.

"Let go of me!" she mumbled. "I didn't do anything. Nothing you can arrest me for!"

He released her ... ... partially so that she wouldn't hurt herself, and partially in sheer surprise.

... ... Arrest her? Was it the authorities she had been hiding from, when he'd watched her emerge into an empty hallway? Perhaps they had identified her from the previous night's incident. God knew the city was blanketed with enough security cameras. It would certainly explain her presence in that deserted part of the Jordan building, as well as her subsequent attack on the policeman.

... ... Was that why she had helped him, V wondered? Merely because they shared a common enemy, rather than the gratitude or concern he had briefly considered as her possible motive?

... ... And dare he admit to himself that a small part of him was actually disappointed by that prospect?

"I am not a policeman," he stated quietly ... testing the situation to verify his suspicion.

It worked and the swinging stopped, her body going limp. Then a deep breath from her lungs, answered by one of his own in vicarious relief. -- -- Well-timed to hers, oddly enough. And at last she rolled onto her back, her hand flopping against her forehead ... near the injury he was anxious to medicate.

Treated correctly, it shouldn't leave too much of a scar. Somehow, he was really quite resistant to the idea of her being scarred. But nor did he wish to scare her unnecessarily. She would be awake soon ... her semi-lucidity now proved it.

In the meantime, he simply grabbed for a handkerchief that lay atop a stack of books. -- -- A quite rudimentary nightstand that a girl like this would probably not appreciate.

His next instinct was to sit down beside her, but his knees had barely begun to bend when that idea was firmly put aside. It may be his bed, but there was currently a female lying within it. ... ... ... One that he had no intention of alarming. One that, on the contrary, he hoped might trust him. And, although only the deepest recesses of his mind would actually admit it -- one he had found himself thinking on far more than might have been usual, low these past twenty-four hours.

... ... There was something strange going on here. Something perhaps only the gods with their swords, or the fates with their lightning bolts would understand. But still ... ... ...

And as he bent over to dab at the cut, Evey's eyes opened half-way. Not focusing, entirely. Not even properly conscious. But seeing him. ... ... Of that he was certain.

Her eyelids flickered as his glove moved above them, pressing at the injury just enough to remove the excess blood. The skin was already trying to repair itself ... ... a process that should be disturbed as little as possible. A topical ointment would be in order though, once she had come round a bit more.

She did see him though, her eyes trying harder than ever to focus on his mask. So he held himself motionless -- -- disguising his irresistible urge to stare, as a mere politeness to the woozy, confused girl.

Yet she said nothing. Just closed her eyes, rolled onto her side, and went to sleep. ... ... Although 'passing out again', was probably a more apt description.

Still, though -- -- she had made no move to swing at him, as she had done previously, when she'd thought him to be the police. A man in a mask, who blew up buildings, tossed Fingermen around like dolls, fought with knives, and had just held the majority of her workplace hostage ... was now standing over her in a strange place she surely could never imagine ... ... and she hadn't swung. Or even protested.

What that meant, he did not know. What most of these recent 'coincidences' meant, he did not know.

Maybe when she awoke again he would find some answers -- -- somewhere between determining who this girl really was, and informing her she would have to spend the entire next year down here with him -- whether she liked it or not. And maybe he would find an answer or two regarding these strange incidences that had begun worming their way into his perfectly strategized plan.

... ... Insisting that she spend the entire next year ... down here with him. ... ...

The extent of the resultant implications -- -- to his life -- -- to his task -- -- were just beginning to filter through his mind. He could only imagine what her reaction would be. ... ... Was there even the slightest chance she wouldn't argue too loudly? Or God forbid, was that when the swinging would commence?

Another moment of watching her -- hoping she really was as uninjured as she appeared -- and wondering how long she might sleep. Well, he would let her rest in peace. The next twelve months would probably be far less than 'peaceful' in her suddenly fragmented life.

Then he turned to make his exit, planning to relocate one of the chaise lounges into a nearby room. It would suffice for him, for the time being. He wanted to be near whenever she awoke. One way or the other, this was going to be a long night.

... ... But he had to do it. He just had to. Once more for the day. ... ...

Pausing -- -- this time to check on his new tenant, rather than scan for pursuers -- -- he glanced over his shoulder.

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**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website.** Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

**This story has accompanying artwork.** To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on, "Over His Shoulder".


End file.
